A successful venture

by Ellen Douglas Deland

He was a man of somewhat old-fashioned notions, one who believed that the men of the family should take care of the women. He wondered if there was no one to look out for this young girl, who seemed to be not more than fifteen,—no older person who could have come with her. Then dismissing the subject from his thoughts for the time being, he devoted his whole attention to the choice of a frame.

Victoria, when she left the shop, felt that all their difficulties were at an end. She had a roll of bills in her pocket,—she put her hand in more than once as she walked, to make sure that the money was safe,—and if all went as smoothly as she hoped, she would have more before the day was over. She had left home that morning with her railroad ticket and twenty-five cents for emergencies; she expected to return in affluence, and it had all been done without the intervention of Aunt Sophia. How fortunate it was that Aunt Sophia had elected to go to Providence on this day of all others! What would she say to such a proceeding if she ever happened to hear of it?

Victoria smiled to herself at the idea. Very probably Aunt Sophia dealt at that picture store herself. How little the dealer suspected that she was the niece of Mrs. Wentworth Ward of Beacon Street,—or the young man who had given her twenty-five dollars. Then in a flash the other side of the occurrence presented itself. Should she have taken so much from him? Was the etching worth that much? Why should she have calmly allowed herself to accept twenty-five dollars from him and only fifteen from the dealer? Had she made herself an object of charity?

She had walked across the Common, and was about to cross Tremont Street when she reached this point in her reflections, and so absorbed was she in the subject that she barely escaped being run over by one of the innumerable electric cars which were passing in long succession, interspersed with dashing herdics and hurrying cabs. All the world seemed to be in haste this sharp winter morning, and a motorman shouted angrily to her as she attempted to cross in front of his car.

She reached the other side of the street in safety, and then she wondered what she should do next. She had no Christmas shopping to consume her time, for their gifts to one another were to be very simple this year and were to be made at home. The stores on Temple Place were packed with people, and as she walked she was jostled and almost bruised by the inevitable handbags, without which Boston shoppers are rarely seen. It was now only half-past ten, and she must stay in town until after three, the hour of her appointment with the jeweller. She determined to go back to her aunt’s, and remain there until the afternoon, and there she could think quietly of the events of the morning.

She did this, and was shown by the maid into the library and told to make herself at home. Although Mrs. Wentworth Ward was their own aunt, the Starrs had never felt for her the affection which is so common in that relationship. It had always been more or less of an effort for them to go to her house, and their calls there were unmistakably “duty visits.” Mrs. Ward was without doubt very trying at times, and the girls were in her opinion absurdly independent.

There were faults on both sides, perhaps, as there usually are in such cases. Victoria, sitting in the luxurious library, thought it all over.

“If Aunt Sophia were only like some aunts,” she said to herself, “how nice it would have been to come and live with her! Think of this big house and no one in it but herself; but oh, I hope we shall never have to do it! I do wonder what the girls will say about my sales this morning. I felt exactly like a book agent or a pedler. Dear me, I only hope I shall never see that young man again! He was just as nice as he could be, but I don’t want ever to meet him! He really made me a present of ten dollars, you might say. What will Honor think of it all?”

Three o’clock came at last, and as the hands of the clock on the steeple of the Old South Church pointed to the hour, Victoria entered the shop where she had left her gold that morning. She knew little of the value of watches, but she fancied that when new they cost not less than one hundred dollars, and often very much more; therefore she hoped for at least fifty for hers. Her disappointment was consequently very great when she learned that it was worth exactly thirteen dollars and seventy-five cents, while the other trinkets would bring but seven and a half.

“The chain and the earrings are hollow,” said the man, “and the works of the watch are good for nothing. You may be glad to get this much.”